


Melted Snow

by Angelwingsl3 (Marie_Fanwriter)



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Explict, M/M, M/M Rares 2018, PWP, Prequel, Rarepair, Sexual Content, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 14:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter/pseuds/Angelwingsl3
Summary: Summary:Spectre Saren Arterius owned stock in many companies to fund his exploits. There was one in particular he favoured, and visiting around year-end was always a treat.Excerpt:Tension melted from his bones in waves like snow against a warm fire.





	Melted Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ooooOdefinitelynotafishgirlOoooo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ooooOdefinitelynotafishgirlOoooo/gifts).



> A Christmas gift for a dear friend.
> 
> Beta: [**Some_Writer**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer)
> 
> Embedded art by [**Pally**](http://palavenmoons.tumblr.com) (on Tumblr). It was wonderful working with you!

\---

As the board meeting came to a conclusion, Saren looked down the ten-metre long conference table to catch the eye of the company’s CEO: Lorik Qui’in. The room around them was buzzing with activity, conversations abound and general excitement for the year-end results. Synthetic Insights had turned record profits. He and the other board members all stood to become extremely wealthy.

Saren merely tilted his head a few degrees to the left, toward the exit, and allowed his mandibles to flutter out with the mild suggestion. Subtlety at its finest. Not another Spirit in the room would have noticed even if they had been watching. The stockholders around them were too focused on the company’s good fortune to pay attention to him, a silent party in the company of such boisterousness.

The Spectre was greeted with an almost imperceptible nod. Although, as he watched the elder turian’s eyes, he saw a spark light within them. Again, his mandibles shifted, this time into the smallest hint of a smile. Tonight they would celebrate their good fortune, all Saren needed to do was wait.

\---

Later, once evening had given way to night on Noveria, Saren stood outside Lorik’s penthouse apartment. He was dressed in a fine black suit, a cloak draped over his shoulders against the planet’s perpetual chill. On occasion, he wondered how Lorik stood for living in such a frigid environment. It was colder here than on the Citadel, and the snow outside the viewports seemed to bring the cold in with it.

Pressing a taloned-finger against the call button, Saren waited patiently for the other turian. His hands rested comfortably at his sides, not too far away from his pistol but not so close that he appeared paranoid. Lorik was a perceptive turian, it was one of the many reasons he trusted his funds to the other male’s hands.

“Spectre Arterius, a pleasure to see you again,” Lorik greeted as the door slid open to reveal him. He stood tall, only slightly taller than Saren himself, and was dressed in colours that complimented his white colonial markings, navy-blue and black. He gestured Saren inside with a brief sweep of his arm. “Please, come in.”

Saren nodded graciously, stepping over the threshold and into the lavish suite. The ceiling was double height, the furnishings expensive and all imported from the homeworld. The Spectre felt more at home here than anywhere else in recent years, simply for the simplistic turian stylings and high class esthetic.

He was drawn past the sitting area to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, snow swirled around in the darkness and far below and beyond Port Hanshan lights dotted the landscape at the various science labs and facilities. A few moments after studying the outside, music began to play, drawing him back to the space around him.

Lorik stood with his omnitool out and a smirk gracing his strong features. “If I remember correctly, the Thessian Symphony Orchestra is one of your favourites?”

“It is,” Saren conceded, taking a pace away from the cool glass and toward the warmth of Lorik’s voice. He always sounded of heat, his voice reverberated in such a way that it commanded attention from all those around him.

“Have a seat,” Lorik said as he walked past him on the way to the wet bar. “There’s a Cipritine clear I’ve been meaning to share -unless you’d prefer a Palaven reserve?” His talons skimmed first the bottle of wine and then a brandy in offering.

“The wine will suit,” Saren answered as he found a comfortable place on one of the posh-looking chairs. The fabric seemed to mould to his form and it imbued heat back into him. “We are celebrating, after all.”

A brief chuckle met him, and Saren leaned back into the seat to look around. Upon entry, he’d already taken a cursory glance to look for potential threats. This secondary and more thorough check gave him more confidence that the room was secure.

“Would you like the security codes, Arterius?” Lorik asked as he approached with a pair of glasses in his hand. He offered them both toSaren who indicated to the left one. Lorik placed the unchosen glass down on the short kava table and took a sip of the remaining wine himself before stepping behind Saren and resting his arm across the Spectre’s shoulders. “As suspected, it’s excellent.”

Reaching out, Saren took the glass. He could feel Lorik’s warmth, even through layers of fabric. Perhaps the turian ran warmer than average, and that was why he could stand the temperatures on Noveria.

“That will not be necessary,” Saren answered in reference to Lorik’s earlier question as he brought the glass of pale blue wine to his mouth. “I already have them,” he finished around its rim as he took the first sip. The flavour blossomed across his palate. He never had to doubt the CEO’s taste, it was as impeccable as it was expensive.

Lorik’s hand left him then, sliding along the curve of his cowl intimately. “Of course you do.” He took a seat on the couch opposite Saren, taking up his wine as he too relaxed into the furnishings. “To our best year yet,” he said, raising his glass in salute.

Saren inclined his own in answer, a brief nod of acceptance and agreement.

In the silence that followed, only broken by the soft string instruments and an occasional woodwind, the pair sipped their wine and allowed the weight of the day to pass. Lorik knew Saren wasn’t fond of crowds, he bore them as necessary and that was all. He rarely joined stakeholder meetings, only spending the necessary time when his busy schedule as a Spectre agent allowed.

Only after half of Lorik’s glass disappeared did he begin the conversation. “I’ve heard your student completed training,” he offered the thread for Saren to take as he wished. While most of his work was classified, the media gathered threads when they could.

“Yes, Rix will make a fine Spectre. The Council will use him well.”

Lorik hummed, considering his statement. “Has he been assigned a sector?”

“Not as of yet. I recommended him to the Apien Crest, though I am certain he will branch out as missions require. He has been informed of your capabilities.”

Lorik’s brow plate rose a fraction in interest and his tone became somewhat suggestive as he prompted: “And which capabilities are you referring to?”

“Managerial, of course,” Saren said, hiding his amusement behind the rim of his glass. “You have managed my funds well. I am certain you would do the same with those I recommend.”

Lorik nodded, taking the lead for what it was. Saren had directed his protege to him for a reason, the executive was trustworthy with credits and had a strong sense of dignity. He would not be swayed for information by promises from Saren’s enemies. Only on fear of certain death would Lorik betray him. He was too good a turian and knew Saren to be too strong to perish on the will of lesser beings.

“I will ensure he does well, Arterius. You have my word.”

Saren leaned forward to place his glass down. “With business out of the way, perhaps we should move on to the more invigorating parts of the evening?”

Lorik’s mandibles shifted, spreading wide to show his teeth. “A sparring match or would you prefer to skip it in favour of what you truly want, Spectre?”

Growling with mild annoyance at his presumption, Saren stood and unpinned his cloak. Simply because Lorik was right, did not mean he should be so brazen. “And if I wanted to change our usual arrangement?”

Lorik’s grin only grew more self-satisfied as he rose from the couch and began to close the distance between them. A single talon traced the rim of his cowl, and he stood close enough for Saren to smell the musk of his cologne and a hint of spice on his breath. “If that is what you wish, Saren. As always, I am at your command.”

Saren’s eyes slid closed as he stepped into the other male’s grasp. His voice was low, barely above a whisper as he replied. “Do not assume, Lorik.”

“You could kill me with a flick of your wrist,” he soothed as his hands rose to the clasps of Saren’s suit, unfastening each one with careful patience. “I assume nothing.”

At the huskiness and low, drawn-out thrum Saren had to suppress a shiver along his spine. The feeling of the elder turian against him was electric, his confident nature and reserve always drew Saren in. There was a reason he suffered through stakeholder meetings and the Noveria chill on occasion.

“Good,” Saren said as he shrugged off his tunic when Lorik prompted him to do so. Once his torso was bare, he allowed the executive to trace the smooth lines of his plates and across the jagged edges of old scars and new. His own talons were busy undressing Lorik.

The elder turian moaned as his claws finally found naked hide to caress. “Mhm. Bloodsport tonight, or no?”

Saren considered the offer and gave a minute shake of his head. “There has been enough of that lately.”

“Fair enough,” Lorik conceded as he brought his mouth to bear on Saren’s shoulder. He traced his hide with a soft mouth and damp tongue, causing Saren’s talons to scrape along the edge of Lorik’s keel. His voice tilted in amusement. “Anxious, are we?”

Willing his talons to disengage, Saren released a harsh breath. “After this, I will not be.”

Lorik’s small chuckle vibrated against Saren’s chest and he melted into the other turian’s talented hands. It was likely he had received professional training for how easily he massaged into Saren’s tired muscles and soothed away the knots and aches.

Within a few minutes, Saren found himself nude and bent over the back of the couch. His bare knees resting on the velvet cushion and head dipped low in bliss. Lorik continued his ministrations until he had Saren at the cusp of purring. Any other turian would have been a puddle by now, but he held himself to too high a standard for that nonsense. Only once Saren was good and ready, did Lorik drape himself over his back.

His voice remained in that low register that Saren had come to appreciate. “Tell me, Spectre Arterius, how does that feel, better?”

Saren let out a small moan as he rolled his hips back into Lorik’s. He could feel the male’s length already out of his sheath behind the thin fabric of his dress pants. It caused his own seam to part, but his swiftly growing erection did not fall just yet. Lorik would have to work for it.

“Perhaps you are out of practice, Qui’in.”

A harsher nip of mouth plates caught against Saren’s mandible, over his shoulder. A reprimand as well as a tease. “I am never out of practice,” he sounded almost hurt and if it weren’t for the underlying amused rumble Saren might’ve considered being less ambivalent.

He reached around, caressing the dampening fabric at the centre of Lorik’s pants. “Prove it.”

Lorik gave him a lusty growl and squeezed Saren’s waist along the way down to his seam. The pads of his fingers were gentle as he worked the plates apart, slickness coating his talons the longer he worked. Soon enough, Saren fell from his protective sheath and into Lorik’s warm hand. His palm was smooth from office work, talons carefully manicured dull to please the other species on the station, and so unlike his own battle-hardened ones.

Saren grunted as his hips moved of their own accord, fucking himself with Lorik’s hand.

“That’s it, Saren.” Lorik cooed at him, his vocals dipping deeper into that register Saren loved. “Open for me.”

He could feel his rear plates parting at the other turian’s attention and words. He needed the stress release from a solid session and Lorik’s teasing was getting to be too much. He tore at the fabric keeping Lorik bound behind him, much to the elder turian’s amusement.

“You could have just asked,” he chuckled as he pulled away to remove his ruined clothing. It wasn’t the first time Saren had ripped Lorik’s clothes. He doubted it would be the last if their liaisons continued.

Saren looked back over his shoulder, impatient. “If you did not want your suit torn, you should have worn something else.” Lorik returned, rumbling an assent and then in question, to which Saren answered: “I am prepared.”

“Good, because I am tired of waiting.”

Lining himself up, Lorik entered in one smooth motion. Both turians released a sigh of relief as the anticipation faded into pleasure. Saren dropped his head between his arms again, resting his crest against the soft fabric and pushing his hips back into Lorik’s.

They found a rhythm within a few short strokes. Firm, but not overwhelming to either of them. Lorik was indeed correct, he was not out of practice and sex with him was as stress relieving as ever. Tension melted from his bones in waves like snow against a warm fire.

Lorik’s hands traced across his body, pulling pleased groans from Saren’s throat. He moved with the other turian, keeping their motions long and languid. Neither was in any hurry. Tonight they had plenty of time, and Saren planned to utilize it all.

With Lorik’s weight against his back, Saren was almost too warm. Light perspiration began to bead in between his plates and he could feel Lorik’s damp breaths increase in frequency against his shoulder. He closed his eyes, allowing the feeling and the other male’s scent to take over. It wasn’t often Saren let go, most of his partners he dominated. Here, he could give in to pleasure.

When he finally neared release, Lorik helped him along. Saren finished in a great rush against the couch, uncaring for the mess he made. As his body went slack, muscles loose as he slumped into his arms and waited for Lorik to run himself out as well.

His thrusts picked up in speed and became somewhat disjointed as he followed Saren over the precipice, purring warmly against his neck and holding fast to his hips as he emptied himself.

They collapsed together onto the clean half of the couch. Lorik lazing across Saren’s chest as the Spectre drew faint patterns along his back. With this first round, the stress that lived within Saren’s very bones seemed to lift away as it always did. He would never admit to having feelings for Lorik Qui’in, it wouldn’t be proper nor practical.

Their relationship did provide him with a sense of satisfaction and relief. For that reason alone, Saren did not desire it to change. And, as he looked at the turian dozing against him, he knew Lorik felt the same. This was enough.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
